


You Should Be Here

by mooniemurphy



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Angst, Death, Grieving, M/M, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-27
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-10-17 09:03:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17557394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mooniemurphy/pseuds/mooniemurphy
Summary: Five Times No One Answered Miguel’s Calls, and One Time Someone Did





	You Should Be Here

**Author's Note:**

> https://open.spotify.com/user/9ca601x3x6098hsns4dfwiiqm/playlist/31kIZV3q9fYapLZOwXWIyp?si=0G-DAHK9QA-pjAIDiNeJ_w
> 
> Have a playlist to aid in pain.

1) September 15th

 

They didn’t tell him until after the fact; no one told him. He found out scanning the internet one day, scouring Facebook, when all the tributes started pouring in after the fact. He had a hard time believing it when he saw it. The date of death was listed as September fourth, and something cold and hard to move settled in the pit of Miguel’s stomach. Connor had texted him before the fact. If he had known what would happen, Miguel would have quit his job on the spot to answer that text. Tributes are still coming in, trickling instead of pouring now, and it’s been eleven days, and Miguel knows that not one of these fucking people knows or knew a damn thing about Connor.

 

Hands shaking, Miguel picks up his phone from where it sits on his bed next to his leg and opens the contact list. His fingers hesitate over the name and then press before he can stop himself, and he brings the phone up to his ear. The phone rings six times before Miguel hears his voice: “It’s Connor, leave your name and number and I’ll get back to you.” And Miguel exhales a breath that’s almost a sob and yet isn’t quite there. 

 

“No you won’t,” he whispers, thinking about that text that day (I miss you). There’s a beep signaling him to leave his message, and he inhales deeply. “I miss you, too.”

 

2) October 5

 

“It’s Connor, leave your name and number and I’ll get back to you.”

 

Miguel takes a deep breath as he walks. It’s getting dark. Everything around him is dark oranges and muted yellows, and he thinks that Connor would like it. Connor always liked walking these trails during the fall and watching nature change.

 

“Happy eighteenth, Con.”

 

3) December 24th

 

It’s snowing, and Miguel knows that Connor would hate it. He’d be bundled up in blankets, shivering and freezing and complaining about the cold, though he always said he preferred the cold to the heat. Tomorrow is Christmas, and Miguel has a present, and he can’t bring himself to take it anywhere. Not to Connor’s family or the cemetery-- he hasn’t been there since it happened. It’s easier to keep himself moving, and once he gets there, he’s not sure he’ll be able to move again.

 

“It’s Connor, leave your name and number and I’ll get back to you.”

 

He can note the tiredness in Connor’s voice in that message. The hint of sarcasm, of ‘I don’t want to be doing this’. Which almost always touched Connor’s voice. It brings a dry smile to Miguel’s face, though it doesn’t touch his eyes.

 

“Merry Christmas, Connor. I know, you hated this holiday more than most of them, and I wouldn’t even have bothered. I just wanted to hear your voice again.”

 

4) February 14

 

Everything is pink. Connor liked pink unironically, but he hated Valentine’s Day and had told Miguel as much, loudly and angrily, because it was a holiday designed to make corporations a bunch of money they didn’t need. Miguel had listened, fondly, and then proceeded to buy Connor a rose anyway. He’d huffed and thrown a whole little fit about it, but he’d also smiled, and that had been worth it.

 

Walking through the aisles of roses and chocolate, Miguel lifts the phone to his ear and sighs softly. “It’s Connor, leave your name and number and I’ll get back to you.” Miguel snorts dryly and waits for the beep.

 

“You hated Valentine’s Day. I hated Valentine’s Day, too, but I bought you a rose anyway. I’m not going to do that this year, I don’t have the money and these things are fucking expensive, you know. But you were the person that made me understand why people would spend a hundred dollars on Valentine’s Day gifts. It’s you and me. Fuck the rest.”

 

5) June 2

 

It’s too hot, and Miguel isn’t even sitting in the stands with the hundred other people packed into them. He’s standing off in the distance, watching people clad in black and silver graduation robes as they walk across the stage to accept their diplomas and people cheer. Miguel doesn’t know if Connor’s parents are there. There was a whole tribute at the beginning of the ceremony, courtesy of the “Connor Project”. Which had been a load of bullshit, but Miguel had helped out with it for a couple weeks. He’d enjoyed watching people finally give Connor the attention and love he’d always deserved. Months too late, years maybe. 

 

“It’s Connor, leave your name and number and I’ll get back to you.”

 

Miguel is quiet for a long time this time, and then sighs quietly. “You told me you wouldn’t graduate because your grades weren’t good enough. I think you would have. You’re smart as hell, Connor, I wish you’d seen that. I wish everyone had seen that. You just didn’t have the patience for this fucking hell hole, which is understandable. Who does? I wish you were here. I wish I could watch you walk across that stage and take your fucking diploma so I could hug you and rub it in your face that you were wrong. You were wrong about so many things.”

 

There’s silence for a few more seconds, and Miguel’s breath catches in his throat. He isn’t going to cry. He hasn’t cried yet. He doesn’t want to cry. “You should be here.”

  
+1) September 4

 

One year. It’s been a year. It doesn’t feel like it’s been that long. It doesn’t feel like any time has passed at all. Everything is still just as hollow as it was when he’d found out. It still aches when he thinks about it for too long. He’s finishing packing-- his second semester at college starts in three days, and he needs to get ready to leave this town, actually move up closer to his college, and leave everything that came with it, good and bad. It’ll be easier to move on when he isn’t here anymore. 

 

Zipping his suitcase, he sighs and reaches for his phone. One more time, just to hear his voice, and then… Well, then he isn’t sure what he’ll do. He dials the number, which is one speed dial now, for no fucking reason. It rings three times, and then--

 

“Are you Miguel?”

 

It’s a female voice that answers, and Miguel feels punched in the gut. He hadn’t expected anyone to answer. He may not be familiar with the voice, but he’s pretty sure he knows who it is. “Is this Zoe?” he asks in return.

 

“Yeah, that’s me. I think we should meet.”

 

And they do, twenty minutes later, at the cemetery. It’s too beautiful of a day for how heavy and cold Miguel feels inside, and he doesn’t want to do it, but he also knows that maybe he has to. Zoe is there, too, and Miguel is pretty sure the flannel she’s wearing is Connor’s, no matter how much she didn’t get along with her brother.

 

“I listened to the messages you left him,” is Zoe’s greeting. Miguel tilts his head in acknowledgement, eyes fixed on the gravestone in front of them. Connor Murphy. Brother, Son, Friend. The dates put him one month shy of eighteen. “You loved him.”

 

“Yeah,” Miguel replies, though it wasn't a question.

 

“Me, too,” she whispers, and her voice breaks, and for the first time since he heard the news, Miguel feels tears on his face.

 

“Did you tell him that?” he asks anyway.

 

“No. Did you?”

 

“No.”

 

“I wish he’d showed me the person you knew,” Zoe says. “He never let me past any of his walls, and he was… He wasn’t a great brother, and he died-- probably thinking I hated him-- And that’s the biggest regret. Because I didn’t and I don’t--”

 

“He had his problems,” Miguel cuts in, bending to run his fingers over the letters on the stone. His voice is hoarse. He feels empty. “He was angry and closed off, but he was also smart, and passionate, and he wanted to believe that there was good in people. He just couldn’t find the good in himself because so many people told him it didn’t exist. He loved you, though.”

 

Zoe doesn’t answer. She’s crying. Miguel is, too, so he can’t blame her. They’d never met. Miguel had only known Connor for a very short time compared to Zoe knowing him all her life, but they’d both loved him for different reasons, in different ways. If things had been different, he might have met Connor’s sister as Connor’s boyfriend, but that’s not possible now. 

 

“I got this,” Miguel says, pulling a book from the inner pocket of his jacket. It’s a signed copy of  _ The Little Prince _ , which he offers to her with a heavy sigh. “It was his favorite book. I was going to give it to him, but… Maybe you should have it.”

 

Zoe takes it and holds it in both hands, looking frail and lost. “Thank you,” she whispers. “I can’t stay, I have homework, but… I just had to meet you. I had to know that you were actually real.” 

 

She doesn’t have to mention the Connor Project or Evan. He already knows. Zoe leaves, and Miguel watches her go, and then turns back to the stone, the only thing he supposes he has now. 

 

“I wasn’t going to come,” he begins, kneeling in the grass with a short exhale of breath. “I didn’t want to. That makes it feel so much more real. But it is real, and I have to accept that. I don’t want to. I want to be able to call you and think that maybe this time, you’ll pick up the phone. I want to think that there’s a future where I could come home from work, and you’ll be on the couch reading a book or drawing, and everything will feel right. That future just doesn’t exist anymore. You know, you were light. You didn’t see that, but you were. At least to me. And you were good. You had flaws, but we all have flaws. But at your core, you were good. And I wish I knew why you thought it wasn’t worth trying anymore, why you weren’t worth fighting for, because you always were. Maybe I should have fought harder? I don’t know. But I miss you, Connor. I really do. I can’t wait to see you again.”

 

It feels maybe a little lighter when he stands to leave. Not better, but lighter. Warmer. A little bit more hopeful, like maybe Connor knows. Maybe Connor had heard it all, from wherever he is now. Miguel doesn’t really believe in all that shit, but it gives him hope to think that Connor could be waiting for him.

 

Miguel dials the familiar number one more time after he loads his stuff into his car the following morning, and is greeted with a robotic voice:  **The number you dialed has been changed, disconnected, or is no longer in service. Please check the number and try again.**

And it doesn’t hurt as much as it should, because he had been expecting it. He opens his contacts and stares down at the number for a few moments before erasing it from his phone. It feels like acceptance; he should have done it a long time ago. “Goodbye, Connor.”


End file.
